“May I ask what you thought of him?” inquired the chaplain.
“I thought him intelligent and gentlemanly,” replied Oscar, “but he had imbibed some very erroneous views.”
“I know it—I know it,” said Mark Lawrence. “Mr. Mace made no secret of them here. Did you ever enter into conversation with him on religious subjects?”
“Very often,” was the quiet reply.
Mark felt that he was drawing near to his point. “May I ask what impression Mr. Mace made on your mind?” said the chaplain.
“At first a painful impression; but Mace was candid, and open to conviction. He came on board the Argus an infidel; he left it, I have good reason to hope, a truly converted man.”
“Is it possible!” exclaimed the clergyman joyfully. “And you—you were the happy instrument of his conversion?”
Oscar’s face did not reflect the look of pleasure on that of his friend. “God sometimes uses strange instruments,” was his only reply.
“But this is a thing to be a joy to you all your life!” exclaimed Mark. “You have then never had doubts yourself?”
“Any difficulties which suggested themselves to my mind in my younger days were but as thin vapours which rather clothe a rock than hide it. They only led me to examine more closely, and so believe more firmly. I could always see the rock behind the vapour, and I long since planted my feet firmly upon it.”